


Hold Fast to Love and Justice

by ClareGuilty



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Chock Full of Feelings, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Slight Canon Divergence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClareGuilty/pseuds/ClareGuilty
Summary: You and Arthur fall together slowly. The setting of a moon that promises a new dawn of hope and freedom. He is your safety. You are his future.Snapshots of the few months that lead up to you and Arthur confessing your feelings to one another as well as your first night together.





	1. The Prickled Pear

Sean kneeled on the ground between your legs, shirt off and fingers clawing in the dirt as you sat perched on a chair wielding a pair of forceps. He cursed and punched the dirt as you worked methodically.

Other members of camp had gathered near to watch the ordeal. Sean cursed at them and threw stones whenever one of them looked at him the wrong way. They weren’t trying to be cruel, you knew, but Sean was certainly going to hear endless teasing for the next several days.

Sean had cursed just about everyone who had walked by, and he had made his displeasure for your work perfectly clear, making several rude comments about your mother and your virtue. You brushed him off coolly. He didn’t mean any of it.

“Maybe you should be more careful next time?” you jested gently, ruffling his long hair as you plucked another cactus spine from his back. “Watch where you fall?”

“I didn’t fall-” Sean hissed through his teeth as you pulled another spine. “I was pushed. I didn’t have much of a choice where I landed.”

You grabbed the cloth and basin of water Mrs. Grimshaw had given you, gently washing clean the area you had just cleared of spines. “I’m just glad you came home safe.”

“Could’a been a little quieter about it, though,” John grumbled from his seat a few feet away. “O’Driscolls and Pinkertons probably heard your yowlin’ all the way to West Elizabeth.”

“Quiet, Marston,” you shushed him. Now wasn’t the time to make Sean feel worse. “You can say your piece after you’ve had a run in with a prickly pear.”

Sean gave a satisfied noise from between your knees, glad to have someone on his side, though it probably didn’t feel that way as you pulled two more spines in rapid succession.

He had landed on his back, and the cactus had claimed the entire left side of Sean’s back and shoulder. You had been working nonstop to remove the spines since he had made it back to camp. There were only a couple of hours of daylight left, and then you wouldn’t have enough light to see by.

The sky was already orange and you had worked your way up to Sean’s freckled shoulder. He would be free soon enough.

A few more long minutes of your careful fingers and Sean’s clever cursing and it was done. He stood carefully, testing to make sure there wouldn't be any more pain. After rolling his shoulder and swinging his arm, he let out a whoop of joy.

“I think I’ve earned a drink,” Sean called boisterously, as if there was ever a reason for him not to drink. “And you!” he threw his arms around your neck, “You get yourself whatever you want.”

You grinned, folding Sean’s shirt and handing it to him. “I’ll leave the forceps with Karen just in case I missed something,” you said.

Sean went to raid the liquor chest while you cleaned up. You gathered the bowl of cactus spines and the basin of water, dumping everything on the edge of camp before heading to the wash basin.

“I don’t know how you handled that boy,” a gruff voice spoke from behind you. “I would’a knocked him upside the head and sent him off on his own after five minutes.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you would have, Arthur,” you turned to face him. “I know you care about your boys.”

He pulled a face and gave a snort of disapproval. “You have the gift of great patience, putting up with us the way you do.”

“I’m just doing my part.” You shrugged and rolled your sleeves back down. “Besides, he’s Karen’s problem now.” Karen had excused herself earlier, unable to bear seeing Sean in so much pain, but she had volunteered to watch him for the rest of the evening.

“We’re gonna get an earful of that arrangement tonight, for better or worse,” Arthur chuckled.

“Remind me to move my tent,” you grimaced. Sean and Karen were loud, be it sex or arguing, and you didn’t want to try and sleep anywhere near that disaster.

“I’ve got room over by my bunk,” Arthur offered. “I’ll help you move your stuff.”

“See, Mr. Morgan,” you crossed your arms, “you really do care.”

Arthur looked off to the distance, his frown looked almost like a pout. It was cute. You smiled and started off towards your tent.

“You’re much less annoying than MacGuire or Marston. That’s for sure.” Arthur grumbled as he fell into step beside you.


	2. Heat Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur hides away with you as the two of you try to escape the Lemoyne heat.

Lemoyne was hot.

Sure, Nevada was hot, and New Austin was hot, and the Grizzlies were far, far too cold. But Lemoyne was hot and _sticky_, and it seemed that no matter how hard you tried, your hair never wanted to cooperate in the swampy air. 

The camp at Clemens Point was nice enough: plenty of room for the horses to graze, enough space between the tents, the lake shore was beautiful.

But it was too damn hot.

Work never got done in the afternoons because everyone crawled into the shade and fanned themselves while they waited for the sun to go down. Sean and Lenny sat, shirts unbuttoned, slowly migrating with the shadow of the tree they were sitting under. Molly and Dutch seethed in silence on opposite sides of their tent. Jack splashed in the shallows of the lake, trying to drag Abigail into the water with him.

You had climbed into the back of one of the covered wagons, hidden from view unless someone specifically decided to peer over the tailgate. The entire morning had been spent unloading feed bags and dragging them to Pearson’s wagon one after the other. Most of the boys were out away from camp, and the ones that were still around were practically useless anyways. So you had carried most of the heavy bags all the way across camp by yourself.

Arthur had stopped by very early, helping you carry a few bags before he set off for the day. You admired his strength as he grabbed two bags at once and hoisted them over his shoulder, marching them easily to Pearson’s wagon. You were much slower, always stopping to set down and pick up the bag over and over again every ten feet. Bill and Uncle watched your huffing and puffing with mild amusement. You glared at them every time you passed, wishing you could cuss them out without Susan or Dutch descending upon you.

Arthur had helped as much as he could before leaving. You thanked him with a soft kiss on the cheek, wishing him well on whatever adventure the day held for him. His blush and flustered stammering had been all the reward you needed to push you through the next several hours of work. Arthur was so sweet, but he always doubted himself. You had made it your mission to show him as much kindness as possible, maybe then he would see himself in a better light.

The air was still and as silent as could be in the swamps. Frogs croaked and flies buzzed and someone was snoring loudly a little ways up the hill.

You were tucked in the empty wagon, fanning yourself every so often and flipping through a book Hosea had lent you. The heat had become too much, so you had unfastened your skirt, setting it aside so you could pull it on if anyone called for you. In just your chemise, the afternoon was much more tolerable. Your skin could breathe, and you enjoyed a bareness that you couldn’t wear around camp. Maybe you would take the boat out one day -- swim naked in the lake for a few hours just to feel the sun on your skin.

A head popped over the tailgate and you startled. Your visitor was equally as frightened, ducking away just as quickly as they had appeared.

“I’m so sorry, miss,” a familiar voice stammered. “I wasn’t trying to catch you unawares.”

You chuckled softly, poking your head out of the wagon. “It’s alright Arthur, I was just trying to escape the heat for a while.” He had stepped around to the side of the wagon, wringing his hands and staring at the ground. “You’re fine,” you assured him. “You’re welcome to climb in and join me if you promise not to bring the heat in with you.”

He glanced up in surprise, eyes searching frantically as you knocked on the wagon wood. He was probably busy, you knew, but it wouldn’t hurt to extend an invitation.

Arthur shifted his weight back and forth. His jaw worked as he considered your offer. “You don’t mind sharing your hiding spot with me?”

“Not at all,” you grinned. “There’s plenty of room, and it’s mighty cool -- especially after a long day out riding.”

“Alright -- sure,” Arthur clambered into the wagon with as much grace as possible for a man his size. You scooted over to make more room as he settled in beside you. He glanced away nervously as you moved your folded skirt but made no effort to put it on.

“Stop being so bashful, Mr. Morgan,” you teased. “My calves aren’t going to start a revolution. Besides, we’ve all seen far too much of Uncle to be worried about one little lady’s legs.” Arthur snorted and seemed to loosen up a little. Your chemise was modest enough that you wouldn’t mind just wearing it plain if the other members of camp wouldn’t give you too much trouble. Surely Arthur was more mature than some of the men you had the displeasure of living with. You figured Arthur had seen plenty of women in his day. He was handsome and charming. Who could resist? 

He pulled a handful of raspberries and a bottle of rum from his satchel, offering some to you with a shy smile. You took a few berries and hummed appreciatively at the sweet taste. 

“These are delicious! Where did you pick them?” You inspected the ripe fruit.

“They grow all along the lake shore. You’d be amazed at some of the stuff I’ve found washed up in the sand.” Arthur smiled and took a pull from the bottle of rum.

“I’m so envious,” you pouted. “Even Sadie gets to go out these days, but when I so much as look outside of camp someone starts telling me off for being lazy.” You accepted the bottle and helped yourself to a long drink.

Arthur patted your shoulder awkwardly. It was a weak attempt to console you, but you appreciated the gesture. “I just want a little freedom is all,” you sighed.

“Which horse is yours?” Arthur asked. You glanced at him in confusion but answered anyways. What did she have to do with this?

“Peanut? She’s the paint mare with the dark mane. I can only imagine how cooped up she feels these days.”

Arthur nodded, eyes trained on the canvas ceiling of your cozy paradise. “I’ll see about getting her some proper tack. As soon as she’s properly outfitted, then you’re welcome to ride with me anytime you like -- save for the work I do for Dutch.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. “You mean that? Surely I would just be getting in your way.”

He shook his head and smiled. “Naw, miss. You would have to put up with me if anything. I’m always wandering about -- never seem to be able to keep to one direction for long. You might get sick of me real quick.”

“I could never get sick of you, Arthur,” you said. “If I’m being honest, you’re one of the only reasons I’m still hanging around with these vagrants. I hate to say it, but I’m having a hard time following Dutch’s vision these days.” A heavy sigh escaped you, and you hugged your knees. You could make it on your own if you tried, but it was nice to have a family, even if they were disrespectful and lazy. 

“Dutch is doing everything he can,” Arthur said. You knew he would defend the leader of the Van der Linde gang until his dying breath. In his eyes, Dutch could do very little wrong. You were less deceived, able to see that Dutch was blinded by his own ambitions.

“I still don’t think it’s enough,” your voice was soft.

“Everything is gonna be fine, sweetheart,” Arthur wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You felt him tense up as he realized how affectionate he was being, but you leaned into his side and he relaxed.

You didn’t voice your worries. Instead, you leaned in close to Arthur, ignoring how warm his skin was and just relishing in the comfort. Even if things didn’t turn out okay, you would always be thankful for Arthur. He was kind, and strong, and you knew he would do his best to look out for you if you needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)


	3. Miseducation of Tadpoles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur takes Reader out for a sweet lunch.

Days like this one had a way of erasing all of the bad parts of your rough and unsteady life. Sitting against log a little ways out from camp, the sun's rays warmed your skin. It was a warm day, but a cool breeze kept you from moving into the shade. The breeze brought with it the beautiful smell of turned leaves, fresh earth, and wildflowers.

You turned another page in your book, an uplifting tale of a young woman and a child finding a new home together with the help of a strange but enchanting outlaw. You weren't sure which character you felt more alike, the strong woman who gave up everything to do right by her new family, or the reformed sinner who worked tirelessly to make amends for his past.

The sound of approaching boot steps pulled your attention away from the pages, and you smiled as you realized who your visitor was.

"Mr. Morgan," you smiled and slipped your bookmark into place, "how can I be of service?"

Arthur was one of the few men in camp you could truly call a friend. He was quiet, thoughtful, considerate - much better company than some of the other drunkards Dutch kept around.

"I was wondering," Arthur had taken his hat off and was worrying the brim with his thumbs, "if you would like to come eat with me - just a little ways away from camp."

You grinned wide, moving to your feet and placing a hand on Arthur's wrist to get him to keep still. "I'd love to join you, just let me go get Peanut and meet up with you, okay?"

Arthur stopped you before you could turn away, "We can both ride my Dixon… if you want.”

It was then that you realized how pink Arthur’s cheeks were, how red he was all over. This must have meant a great deal to him. 

Realization settled with a slow smile, and you nodded. “That’s just fine by me.” You tucked your book in your satchel and followed him to where Dixon was hitched.

“What were you reading back there?” Arthur asked as he helped you into the saddle.

“Some silly romance,” you looked down at your hands sheepishly, “I can’t help but see myself as the outlaw. I don’t guess I’m much of a heroine anymore.”

Arthur swung into the saddle behind you, satisfied with whatever he had been packing into the saddlebags. “You’re doing just fine.” His voice was right in your ear, and you couldn’t help the shudder that ran through you at the sound.

You didn’t ride far, just a few miles along the edge of the woods. Arthur urged Dixon to stop at a small clearing tucked just behind the first line of trees. A small stream slowed to a shallow pond along one edge of the clearing, while several large trees shaded the soft grass. Large growths of Spanish moss created soft, gently swaying curtains that caught the light and created an ethereal glow among the branches. 

“How did you find this place?” you asked, breathless with awe. It was beautiful.

Arthur hesitated for a moment. “I spend a lot of time riding by myself. It’s always nice to wander, enjoy what the land has to give me.” He dismounted and helped you to the ground as well.

“Thank you for sharing this place with me,” you grabbed Arthur’s hand, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. He cleared his throat and began unpacking the saddlebags.

You wandered around the glen as he laid out a quilt and fetched some canteens and a few wrapped parcels. The moss was soft against your palm, the dirt damp beneath your boots. The thin grass was cool as you yanked some up, letting the blades scatter in the breeze, floating to rest on the smooth surface of the pond. You watched the ripples, strange oblong shapes that bumped into each other again and again.

When you turned, Arthur was sitting on the quilt watching you with a curious expression. You flushed as you realized how childish you must have looked. You took a seat beside him and accepted the venison he offered you.

Arthur had packed quite a bit of food. Meat, cooked vegetables, some canned fruit, and even a few cookies that looked soft and chewy. 

“This is quite a spread,” you noted. “Doesn’t look like Pearson’s usual product.”

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “No, this is straight from the stores of one Susan Grimshaw. She recommended that I take you out somewhere nice for a meal.”

You blinked in surprise. “I can’t believe Mrs. Grimshaw didn’t _recommend_ that you take me to wash Marston’s long johns.” The thought alone made your nose crinkle, and Arthur laughed again. You were glad to see him in high spirits, he usually stormed around with a crease in his brow and anger in his eyes. You knew the work he did for Dutch wasn’t easy… or good.

“Susan’s got a good heart,” Arthur assured you, “and Marston can do his own damn laundry - if he don’t drown in the river trying, that is. Do you know what I heard him telling Jack the other day?”

You shook your head. If there was one thing Arthur loved to do, it was make fun of John.

“Abigail and I come up on the river where John was supposed to be watching Jack, and they’re both poking around in the mud. John is saying ‘well Jack, when tadpoles are ready to become frogs, they build themselves a cocoon underwater and wait to grow legs before they come back out.’” Arthur shook his head as he tried to keep from laughing too hard. “Anyways, Abigail was on him in seconds, snapping at John and desperately trying to reteach Jack before any of that nonsense stuck.”

You tried to hide your grin behind a slice of bread. Arthur held no such courtesy.

“A tadpole? In a cocoon? You’d think the boy was raised by wolves.” He was pounding the dirt with his fist as he shook with laughter.

“I’d say you shoulder some partial responsibility for John’s miseducation,” you pointed out.

Arthur waved his hand, “No, that falls entirely on Dutch. He insisted on molding John into ‘the perfect outlaw.’ Look at him now,” Arthur broke into another fit of laughter, “Frog cocoons!”

You stood your ground in John’s defense. “He’s just trying to do right by Jack. These past few months, he’s really been trying. He’s not the worst father a boy like Jack could have gotten.”

Arthur seemed sobered by your words. “I guess you’re right. He’s been good to Jack since he got back. I can’t fault him for trying.”

The air fell quiet. You noticed Arthur’s expression had grown more somber. 

“You’d make a good father,” you said. Arthur looked up in surprise.

“Me? I couldn’t do something like that. I’ve got too much blood on my hands.” He stared at the dirt. Your heart twinged at how empty his voice sounded. You moved in closer, resting a hand on his arm.

“John’s doing it. Hosea raised you just fine. I think you could do it - if you wanted to.”

Arthur turned to face you, and you tried to pull away. You were too close. He held you still with a hand on your waist.

“Thank you,” he said. You closed your eyes, and Arthur’s lips brushed yours. He pulled away suddenly. When you looked, he had tucked his face into his arm.

“I’m sorry,” his voice wavered a bit as he apologized. “That was very… forward of me.”

“Arthur,” you placed a hand on his cheek, guiding his gaze back to you, “it’s okay.”

You kissed him gently, brushing your thumb along his jaw as he froze, and then relaxed under your touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)


	4. Last Boat Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur chases Reader to Van Horn, a town that could only mean nothing but trouble.

“Where is she?” Arthur demanded. He shoved past Bill with a growl, storming to where Hosea and Susan were having a low, huried conversation. 

Arthur had just returned back to camp. After grabbing a plate of stew, he asked Lenny where to find you only to learn that you were nowhere to be found, disappeared under everyone’s noses.

“Why isn’t she here?” he grabbed Hosea by the arm, spinning him roughly.

“Well Arthur,” Hosea shook his head, “we’re not quite sure where she headed off to.” He glanced to your empty tent, his hands wringing in worry. “She left before the sun came up. No one thought anything of it until Susan found her note.”

“Give it to me,” Arthur snatched the piece of paper Grimshaw was holding. It was your handwriting, loose and swirling across the page.

_I’m going away for a while. Sorry I won’t be able to help out with chores, but I’ve got some things I need to take care of. I’ll come back when I can._

You hadn’t even bothered to sign the note. Arthur crumpled the paper in his fist and glared at Grimshaw.

“Did you say something to her? Did Dutch?” He whirled around, trying to figure out who, or what, had driven you out of camp.

Susan raised her hands defensively, “She’s been working just fine lately. I haven’t had to say nothing to her since last week.”

Arthur looked ready to rear back, but Hosea stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. “Sean said he saw her heading northeast. She’s probably just heading up to Emerald Ranch. I’m sure we’ll hear from her in a few days.”

Arthur wasn’t convinced. He stalked off to his own wagon, kicking his chest in anger before sitting on his cot. Another folded piece of parchment was resting beside the picture of his mother. He snatched it up. The sight of your handwriting once again filled him with relief. Surely you would tell him where you were heading.

_Arthur,_

_Sorry for leaving so suddenly. Don’t worry, I have every intention of coming back as soon as I can. I’ve got to take care of some business in Van Horn. Nasty stuff in a nasty place I guess. Don’t lose your head while I’m away, okay? Maybe I’ll bring you back a gift._

You at least had the decency to sign this one. Arthur smiled wryly at your attempt to bribe him. Of course, you would see something that reminded you of him and not be able to resist taking it.

But why were you in Van Horn? Alone? Arthur’s stomach turned as he thought about all of the horrible things that happened in that town. He couldn’t let you get hurt.

His mind was racing as he crammed supplies into his satchel. You weren’t leaving the gang -- not yet. But you had thought about it, talked about it. Arthur knew there would come a day when you would move on. Was this the beginning of that end? How much longer before he lost you forever? 

What kind of trouble had dragged you to Van Horn? A low growl and a raised fist warded off Dutch as Arthur stormed out of camp. His horse whinnied loudly as he spurred the beast into a punishing gallop. So many unanswered questions. So much fear. 

Gone since sunrise, and now it was nearly twilight. You were probably in New Hanover by now. He knew it wasn’t likely you would camp in the woods north of the swamp. You were smarter than that.

So Arthur dug in. He cut through the fields and over the hills, riding until his horse couldn’t go any further, and only resting as long as was necessary. If he was gaining ground, it didn’t feel like it.

The marsh slowed him down considerably. Picking his way through the soft ground and low trees was infuriatingly slow, and Arthur was ready to kill the next bastard that he came across as he pushed through the dark, wet terrain.

It wasn’t like Van Horn was a large town. Surely he would be able to find you once he made it to the decrepit trading post. That thought rattled around in his mind as the sun rose and began to set again. His heart twinged with fear every hour that passed without you.

At last, the sun rose over the sight of the lighthouse. The lake looked beautiful in the easy dawn; the town did not.

Just as filthy and grimy as always, Van Horn stunk and smoked among the large gray rocks. Arthur hitched his horse at the first post he came across and headed straight for the saloon.

“I ain’t seen anyone like that.” The bartender shook his head when Arthur gave him your description. “She don’t sound like she would fit in much ‘round these parts.”

Arthur snorted with assent, knocking back a shot of whiskey before making a beeline to the post office. The clerk cowered as Arthur stormed up to the window.

“Yessir,” he stammered after Arthur repeated his interrogation, “She was here just yesterday evening. Picked up a letter and sent one out to post as well.”

“Can you give me the letter?” Arthur demanded.

“What? No sir, I can not _give_ you the letter unless your name is Jonathan O’Hare.” The clerk took on a defensive tone. 

Jonathan O’Hare? Arthur had no clue who that was.

“Did she say where she was going? Another post office to deliver to?” Arthur was leaned against the iron grate, hands gripping the bars like he was going to tear them off.

“I think it’s time for you to leave, sir.” Clerk stepped back nervously, reaching for what was very obviously a gun beneath the counter. Arthur let out a huff and stormed off.

The hotel was a dead end. No one had seen you since the post office yesterday evening and Arthur was starting to get more and more worried. Where had you stayed last night? His hands shook as he wandered back out into the street. It was closer to noon now, and more people were out and about, hungover and bitter as they wandered the muddy road.

Then he saw you. Just a flash of a skirt turning down to one of the docks. You disappeared just as quickly, hidden behind the burnt shell of a building, but Arthur knew it was you.

He took off at a sprint, barreling through the day drinkers and vagabonds as he tried to reach the pier. Skidding around the corner, he saw nothing but an old boat, rocking in the low waters of the lake's edge. Had you gone there?

The warped wood creaked under Arthur’s boots as navigated the old and rundown dock. The boat wasn’t in much better shape. It barely looked like it should stay afloat.

Arthur didn’t bother to call out as he climbed on board. Either he would find you, or he wouldn’t.

There you were, turned away from him as you scurried towards the stairs at the front of the deck. You didn’t hear his footsteps over the sound of the water and the wood. Arthur grabbed you by the shoulder, spinning you to face him.

And received a slap to the face.

“Who the hell- Arthur?” You covered your mouth with a gasp as you realized who you had just struck. “What are you doing here?”

The outlaw rubbed his jaw and groaned, stomping his foot against the rotted wood as he tried to work through the sting of your slap. “Goddamn woman,” he cursed. “You sure do got an arm on ya.”

You nodded with only a little bit of pride, flexing your arms in your sleeveless blouse. “All those chores for Grimshaw finally paid off. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I came to find you,” Arthur stepped forward. “I got worried when you disappeared out of nowhere. This town is a dangerous place.”

You sighed and crossed your arms. “Can’t a girl take care of her business without every outlaw in the country trying to hunt her down?”

Arthur grabbed your arms, jostling you just a little. “Is someone after you?” he asked, eyes wild and afraid.

“Not particularly no,” you brushed his hands away, “and quit grabbin’ me will ya?” You swatted at his shoulder in annoyance. “Some nasty folk tried to put me up when I was leaving Lemoyne. Guess they thought I was easy pickings all by myself like that. Had to shoot a few of them to scare them off -- not really my thing you know. They weren’t even carrying that much.” You rolled your eyes.

Arthur was dumbstruck. He stood uselessly, trying to figure out what to do now that he had finally caught up to you.

You shoved his shoulder lightly. “Go wait for me at the saloon okay? I’ll come and find you when I’m done.” You were already turning towards the stairs.

A loud bellow erupted from the boat’s upper deck. Arthur threw himself in front of you, pressing you close against his back. His hand was already on his revolver.

Heavy footsteps thudded towards the top of the staircase. Arthur waited for the person to come into view.

You were shoving against his side, trying to get him to move out of sight. Your weight was nothing against his, and he didn’t budge.

“Who the hell is down there?” a booming voice demanded.

“It’s just me,” you called back. “Some guy from town showed up, but he don’t want no trouble or nothing. I’m getting rid of him.” Your eyes pleaded desperately with Arthur.

“Just go,” you hissed. 

Arthur didn’t move.

“If he doesn’t kill you, I will.” You pushed against his chest.

The man appeared at the top of the stairs. He was broad and bald. A long, full beard covered his frown, but Arthur could see the anger in his dark, beady eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Arthur.”

“Well, Arthur, get off my boat.” He leaned against the deck railing, staring down at the outlaw as you glanced worriedly between the two men.

“I will once I learn what your business is with the young lady here,” Arthur nodded to you.

The man scoffed. “Our business ain’t none of your business. Now leave before I come down there and make you.”

“Please go,” you said.

“See,” the bearded man gestured to you, “even she wants you to stay out of this.”

Arthur took a step towards the stairs. You threw yourself against his chest, boots digging into the wood as you tried to push him back. He wrapped an arm around you and lifted you, turning to set you down behind him as he marched up the stairs. The two men stood face to face, dark eyes against blue ones. The bearded man raised his fists, ready to fight. A knife gleamed in his right hand.

Arthur drew his own knife, moving forward into the other man’s space. He raised his hands to block, ready to fight even without cause.

The bearded man moved in, swiping his knife towards Arthur’s gut. Arthur deflected the blow and landed a punch across the man’s jaw. He staggered back, but was only stunned momentarily before pushing back in with another swipe of his blade.

“Stop!” you screamed, pulling back the hammer of your revolver. You had flown up the stairs as soon as the fighting started, unsure how to separate the two men without getting yourself killed in the process.

Both men turned to face you. You aimed your revolver at the bearded man, who appeared surprised by the betrayal.

“Really?” he asked in disbelief. “You would pick this stranger over me?”

“He ain’t a stranger,” you shook your head. “He’s ten times the man you’ll ever be.”

“Is that so? You little harlot. Got bored of me, so naturally you had to seduce the next thing that walked on by. I wouldn’t be surprised if you fucked a horse just feel like something actually wanted ya,” the man sneered.

Arthur recoiled in shock. Who was this man? How did you know him? His words made Arthur's blood boil, and he tackled the man, sinking his knife into flesh. The two grappled for a moment, grunting as the bearded man tried to get his own knife into Arthur’s gut. 

You cried out as Arthur shoved forward, pushing the bearded man until he toppled over the edge of the upper deck. You heard a crash and then a splash as he fell into the lake below.

Arthur panted and turned to face you. He was winded but unscathed. You ran to his side, pulling him away from the edge of the deck and throwing your arms around his chest.

He held you, pulling you in close as you gasped and sobbed into his shirt. He helped you down the stairs, shielding your eyes as you passed the lifeless body floating in the water. He helped you all the way to the saloon where he sat you down.

Taking the seat across from you, he cleared his throat. “Not that I regret killing that sack of shit, but I do think you owe me a bit of an explanation about what happened back there.”

You nodded, trying to even out your breathing. Arthur waited patiently as you calmed down.

“My family was killed by the Raiders when I was still a girl.” Arthur nodded; he knew that much. “After they died, Roger found me -- the man on the boat. He promised to take care of me until I could get myself settled, but he didn’t actually want me to do that. He tried to keep me with him -- make me work like I was his wife or something. I wound up running away while he was passed out drunk. I stole a bunch of his shit when I was on the way out.”

You worried the fabric of your blouse. “Hosea picked me up a few months later. I’ve been, uh- I’ve been hiding money from Dutch. I needed to pay Roger back. He said if I didn’t bring the money to Van Horn, then he would come and kill me. Everything would be over.”

“Everything is over now,” Arthur promised, taking your hand in his.

“I guess I should give Dutch his money,” you sniffled.

“Nah,” Arthur smiled, “You earned that stuff. Just make sure you have a good hiding place.”

“You didn’t have to come after me,” you said, looking past Arthur, “but I think I’m glad you were there.”

“You are certainly strong enough to handle yourself,” he said. “I just don’t want you to have to do these things alone. You have a family now.”

Tears welled in your eyes again. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to get a room here? The hotel ain’t that nice, but it’s four walls and a roof.”

You nodded. “I may need a drink first, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)


	5. Straight into Your Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut! They bone! Arthur is very shy and nervous and Reader just love shim a whole lot!

You pulled Arthur up the rickety wooden steps to the room he had rented. He smiled as you tugged on his arm.

“I’m not as quick as I used to be,” he said. “You’re going to have to be a little patient.”

You grinned and pulled harder. He was so solid beneath your fingers, nothing but thick muscle. Earlier on the boat he had just _moved_ you as though you weighed nothing. The thought of Arthur’s strength and all of the wonderful ways he could use it made your desire for privacy only that much greater. You could see the door to the room now, and you nearly stumbled in your excitement to cover the last few feet of ground. Arthur steadied you with an arm around your waist.

“I’ve seen you drink Bill under the table,” Arthur teased, “Don’t tell me two shots of Van Horn whiskey is gonna knock you off your feet.”

The whiskey had been sour, but certainly not enough to set the world spinning. You righted yourself with an indignant huff and elbowed Arthur in the side. Could he really not see that he was the reason you felt like you were walking on air?

The door creaked open, and you dragged Arthur inside. You had barely heard the click of the lock before your lips were on his. He pulled you in close, practically lifting you off the floor to kiss you deeper.

Your fingers ran up his chest and across his shoulders, admiring the way his body felt under your hands. His hair was short at the back, but you dragged your nails across his scalp to feel him shudder against you.

Arthur kissed you as though your breath would be able to save him from his sins. Your lips were salvation, your touch a redemption. You could have spent forever in his arms, knowing you were loved and wanted by someone like Arthur.

You needed each other. Outside of this shitty hotel room, the world would stop at nothing to tear you apart; but even with miles between you, Arthur was what you needed most in the world.

The back of your knees hit the bed. Arthur drew back without letting go of you. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I know today has been a lot for you.”

You dragged Arthur back in by the front of his shirt. Your lips trailed over his jaw, his cheek, down his neck. “I’m more than okay,” you whispered against his skin. “I’m free.”

Arthur held you closer. One of his hands stroked your hair, cradling you against him.

He turned and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you into his lap with no more effort than if you were little Jack. “I love you,” he said softly. “I want you to know that. I love you, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I love you too, Arthur.” You smiled at him. Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt open, lightly skimming over his tanned chest as you pulled the fabric away. He raised his hands as if to stop you, but then let them rest on your hips.

“Is this okay?” you asked. 

“It’s more than okay,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I just, ah, I’m not-” he stared into the fire, furrowing his brows.

“You’re perfect.” You grabbed his chin and turned him back towards you. “You’re the greatest man I know, and I won’t let you think any less of yourself.”

Arthur’s cheeks turned pink in the low light. His hands wandered up, over your sides until he found the fasten of your skirt. “May I?” he asked.

You nodded, shifting so he could slip your skirt over you legs until it pooled on the floor. The two of you pulled apart so you and Arthur could remove all of belts and holsters between you. You turned back to Arthur once your clothes were in a neat pile on the floor. His shirt was open, and you saw his flush reach down to his chest.

“Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Morgan. There’s nothing special to look at here.”

“I would have to disagree with you there.” Arthur grabbed your hand and pulled you to him. You fell into his lap easily, peppering kisses over his skin. He shifted beneath you, and you felt his erection beneath the thick material of his pants.

You tugged his shirt off his shoulders and flung it behind you. You couldn’t help but run your hands over every inch of his chest, admiring how strong and handsome he was. After several moments of silent appreciation, you let your fingers trail to Arthur’s waistband. You opened the fly of his pants and slid your fingers inside, letting them gently trace the outline of his cock.

Arthur gasped at you touch. You kissed him and continued your exploration, slowly curling your fingers over the shaft before dipping down even farther to cup his balls.

It was too much. Arthur lifted you off his lap and set you on the bed beside him. His pants were off before you could blink, and Arthur was leaning over you, pushing you back into the bed to steal hungry kisses. His hands, rough and calloused, were gentle as they roamed over your body, exploring every inch of skin that Arthur had never seen before.

You were just as shameless, admiring the strength of his arms as they caged you. Rocking up against his hips where they met yours. He was heavy, but not suffocating, a comforting weight over you that only made you feel safer.

His mouth trailed hot and wet over your chest. You bucked up against him, dragging your nails over his scalp as he pulled a nipple between his teeth. Arthur chuckled and repeated the motions.

“Ah!” you gasped. “Arthur, please,”

“Such a sweet girl,” his lips fell to your ribs, your stomach. “Let me take care of you.” His hands nudged your thighs apart, and his fingers trailed over your entrance. You were wet, desperate to be filled. One of your hands shot down to grab his wrist, pulling his hand back between your legs.

“I know, I know,” he soothed you. One finger slipped inside and you rocked your hips down. Arthur watched you carefully, pressing another finger in. His fingers were large, much larger than yours, and just two of them was already a stretch.

You gasped and scrabbled for purchase on Arthur’s skin. He leaned forward, not flinching as you raked your nails over his arms and pressing his lips to yours. His fingers pushed into you slowly, curling slightly before he pulled back. Another push in and you could feel the press of his knuckles, the roll of his hips as he stretched you open.

The pad of his thumb brushed over your clit. Your eyes flew open and you stared at his smug smile. “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

His pace picked up, steady and strong. Two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing over your clit with firm presses. You came apart beneath him. Crying out softly and clenching over his fingers. Arthur was right there, whispering into your skin and pressing his forehead to yours.

You blinked away the haze of pleasure and grinned up at him. “You sure know how to make a woman feel special.”

“I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve,” Arthur brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. You let out a soft moan.

“Please Arthur, I need you.” 

He leaned over you once more, kissing you sweetly before reaching down to press his cock against your entrance. “Let me know if it’s too much,” he said as he pushed forward.

It was too much, but in the best way possible. You bit your lip and rocked your hips slightly as Arthur filled you. The stretch wasn’t painful; it was amazing. Combined with the presence of him on top of you, sheltering you with his body as he sank into you, you felt loved.

“I love you, Arthur,” you whispered. 

“I love you too.” His hips met yours. “You feel amazing, sweetheart.” He took a few steadying breaths before experimentally rolling his hips. You both let out sounds of pleasure.

He started slow, breathing hard against your skin as he tried to set a steady pace with his thrusts. It felt great, but you needed a little more. One of your hands reached to rub your clit, you fingers occasionally slipping down over his shaft. Arthur groaned and bit down gently on your shoulder.

“Harder,” you begged. “I need more.”

Arthur obliged without hesitation, pounding into you and threatening to break the skin where his teeth met your flesh. You gave in to the sensations and chased your own pleasure with your hand between your legs. 

You came quickly. Crying out and clenching on Arthur’s cock. He kept fucking you as you shook with aftershocks and raked your nails over his skin.

“I’m close,” he breathed. His hands gripped your hips so tight you feared he was going to break you. “So close, baby.”

With a rumbling growl, Arthur pulled out and spilled over your stomach and hip. He stroked himself, shuddering and moaning as he came. With a heavy breath, he rolled over and lay on the bed next to you. You watched the rise and fall of his chest for a moment before finding a handkerchief to wipe yourself up with.

Arthur opened his arms to envelop you as you returned to the bed. You swung your leg over his hips and maneuvered yourself so you were laying half on top of him. His lips pressed against the top of your head. 

The two of you enjoyed the silence and the closeness. All those months of longing, all those months of waiting, and now Arthur was here with you. It was one of those things that felt as though it was supposed to last forever. Your heart ached at the realization that forever may not be very long for you and Arthur.

It could last. The two of you could get out. With all of the money you had saved to pay Roger back, you could run away. Dutch wouldn’t be able to stop you. If he truly loved Arthur, he would let the two fo you leave. You wouldn’t have to be alone, though. It was time for Abigail and Jack to move on too, whether John decided to come with them or not. Maybe Charles would understand. Maybe you could still have a family.

A sense of hope warmed you. No matter what, you weren’t alone. There was always a chance for something better. Your something better just happened to be in the opposite direction of wherever Dutch was looking.

You nestled in closer to Arthur. Your lips pressed into a scar on his chest. One of his hands followed an easy trail over your back.

“You’re an amazing woman, you know that?” 

“And you’re a good man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I tweet a lot of RDR2 on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)
> 
> Check out my other fics on my [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)


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